Chapter Eight

Reed

Colter swipes a towel off the bench and takes a seat, wiping the sweat from his brow. Hayes follows, grabbing a water bottle and taking a long, heavy gulp.

Coach has been riding our asses ahead of our game next weekend.

It's nothing new; we know he's tough on us because he wants us to win. We need it if we hope to make the playoffs again this year.

Kolmont is one of our biggest rivals, and this game is one of our most anticipated of the season, especially given the history and animosity between the two teams. Though a lot of that tension has simmered since Hayes and Erik Osten put their past to rest.

"How are you feeling going into the game on Saturday?" I ask, settling onto the bench and leaning against my locker.

Hayes shrugs. "We've been down this road. I'm glad that Osten will be out there with us when I step onto the field."

I nod in agreement. The play that ended Osten's season weighed heavily on Hayes's mind. It was an accident, but something the media and fans didn't let him forget.

"You made it through the storm and came out on the other side," Colter adds, and we all nod.

The more I've gotten to see him with Everly, the more I've come to believe she has everything to do with pulling my friend from the darkness and bringing him back to life.

I can see it now, and even in the short time of having Tate around, I'm beginning to understand I have more to look forward to other than football and hanging out with my friends.

They've all found love, though, so the time we've spent together lately has become less and less. I played video games more now than I did when we first started sharing a place.

We chat for a bit about the game before the conversation shifts to the party at Greencastle. That's my cue that it's socially acceptable for me to dip out now.

I kick off my cleats and shove them into my gym bag, along with a few other clothes I need to wash. I skip the shower, glancing at the clock, knowing I have about an hour before Tate leaves for her shift at Sweet Tooth.

"I'll see you guys back at the house." I toss a wave over my shoulder and head toward the door, trying to leave without raising any questions.

The house is quiet when I step through the door.

"Tate," I call out, unsure if she's in the kitchen or upstairs in her room.

"Yeah?" she responds from upstairs.

The T-shirt I wore at practice is draped around my neck, and I use the bottom to wipe the sweat dripping from my brow. It occurs to me that I'm only wearing a pair of gym shorts, but it's too late now.

When I climb the stairs and see her standing at the end of the hallway, I catch her subtle gasp when she sees me.

Her gaze flicks down to my shorts and up to my face again. Her throat bobs when she swallows, and she clenches her jaw, clearly fighting to hide her reaction to seeing me without my shirt.

I'm struggling to keep a straight face, amused at the thought of her checking me out.

"You have to work at one, right?" I ask, and her brows deepen as she nods.

"Yeah, why?"

"You want me to take you? I mean, drop you off. That way, you don't have to walk or ride your bike."

She showed up at home the other day with a bike she said she bought from some guy off Marketplace. I want to tell her the thought of her riding her bike to and from work makes my palms itch to stop her. But I don't, though, because the way that sounds, even to me, is unsettling. The last thing I want is for her to think I'm trying to control her.

I just hate the thought of her riding home alone in the dark, especially when I could easily give her a ride and spend a few extra minutes alone with her.

"Um, yeah, sure. That's fine with me. I mean, if you don't mind. I don't get off until after nine," she says, her voice hesitant.

"I know. Tuesday. You work your longer shifts," I reply, trying to keep casual.

This seems to break the ice a bit, and she smiles. "You remembered."

"Of course I did. I remember everything you've told me about yourself."

Her eyes flicker, and her face softens at the admission. It takes every ounce of strength not to pull her into my arms again.

I've been thinking about the almost-kiss from the other night. When she mentioned her rule, I made one of my own—to be the friend she needed while she settled into this new place. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't dying to kiss her, to explore how I could make her gasp and her eyes glaze with desire.

It's even hard when I think about how we're sharing a wall and how just a few feet separate us. Some nights, I've wondered if she's been thinking about it too.

We stand there, locked in a stare, until I step away, reaching for the strap of my bag.

"If you don't mind, I'm gonna jump in the shower quick to get cleaned up, and then I'll be ready."

She blinks quickly, avoiding my gaze, and nods. "No problem. I gotta finish getting ready anyway."

Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail with a few strands pulled down around her face. Not an ounce of makeup adorns her face, which is just how I like her. She looks beautiful either way, but I can't deny that I appreciate how I get this version of her too.

I drop my bag on the floor and grab a fresh pair of shorts and some underwear from my drawer before making my way to the bathroom. As I pass her open door, our eyes meet before I shut the door behind me.

"Jesus," I groan. Gripping my dick beneath my shorts, I wince.

She's got me feeling like a teenager all over again, not knowing what to do with the surge of hormones hitting me all at once.

I strip down and turn on the shower, adjusting the temperature. The only thing that will calm my mind and this hard-on will be freezing me out.

Not wasting any time, I make quick work of washing my hair before lathering my body with soap, avoiding my dick. My balls tighten, and a low moan escapes my lips when I give in and finish washing up. I let the suds do the work of gliding my hand over the tip.

"Fuck," I moan, my hips pistoning into my fist.

I squeeze my eyes shut, letting the water cascade over me, drowning out everything around me.

I'm so lost in chasing my pleasure that I don't think about it until her name passes my lips in a low moan. God, something's wrong with me. I'm in the shower, picturing her kneeling in front of me, her hand gliding beneath mine while she sucks on the tip until I nearly come.

"Yesss," I hiss.

"Did you say yes?" Tatum's voice echoes through the small space.

"Shit, Tate?" I wipe the fogged glass with my hand and slide the shower door open. My hand is still gripping my dick, only now I'm using it to try to shield myself from her.

Her gaze drops to my hand before meeting mine again.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I thought you heard me, but considering your response, I don't think you did."

She raises her hand to cover her face, which makes me chuckle. Her fingers part, and she narrows her eyes on me, rolling them before letting her hand fall to her side.

"I didn't hear you, but that's okay. Did you need something, or were you hoping to stick around and watch me?"

"I wasn't watching you," she shoots back. The sound of her voice and the wicked gleam in her eyes has my wrist flicking before I clench my jaw, cutting me off.

"Well, if you're not gonna stick around, then do you mind giving me a few minutes to finish? I'll be out soon, and I can take you to work."

She nods and turns, bending down to open the cabinet beneath the sink. I can't help but groan; the way her ass sways isn't helping the situation. Considering how she quickly snatches her toiletry bag and slams the door shut tells me she heard me too.

Our eyes meet in the mirror again, and this time, when she lets her gaze drop to my hand, she doesn't pretend it was a mistake.

"Wait, if you didn't hear me knocking, why did you say my name?"

I could play it off like it never happened or claim I said another name, but both would be a lie. I might be many things, but a liar will never be one of them.

"I can't answer that question without risking our friendship."

"Why is that?" She tilts her head to the side, and my nostrils flare.

She really has no fucking idea, does she?

"I don't think you want to know the answer to that question, Tate. Now's your last chance to get your stuff and head back to your room."

She steels her spine as if daring herself when she says, "And if I don't?"

When she lets her eyes roam to my fist again, I don't even try to hide what she does to me. I stumble backward, leaning against the tile wall with the shower door open while she watches me in our reflection.

"‘Cause if you knew I was jerking off while picturing you, that would change things between us. If I told you that, then I wouldn't resist admitting I've thought about kissing you and touching you a hundred times since you moved in, and a hell of a lot more since we first met."

Her eyes grow heavy, and she drops her toiletry bag on the counter, sending it falling into the sink.

"While I know it would be breaking your number-one rule, baby, the look in your eyes right now is making it hard for me to give a shit about any of those things."

She spins around to face me, leaning against the edge of the vanity. Her eyes flicker with something I can't quite put my finger on, but I'm convinced she's trying to kill me when she admits what she's thinking now.

"Is it breaking my rule if I watch but don't touch?" She drags her lower lip between her teeth.

My balls tighten. You'd think she had them in a damn vise grip.

"Well, you should know I plan on breaking every one of your rules that stand between us because there's not a damn thing I won't do if it means getting to see the turned-on glimmer in your eyes again."

"Reed," she mutters, and I nod.

"That's me, baby." I glance down at my hand, and the two of us watch as I stroke my dick, slow at first. Hearing her heavy breaths, I pick up the pace.

"I'm picturing you on your knees for me, Tate. Your soft hands wrapped around my dick while you suck on the tip, making me come so hard I can barely stand."

She sucks in a sharp breath. I want so badly to look at her, to pull her in here with me, but I can't. Not yet.

It still doesn't stop me from noticing how she rubs her legs together like she's desperately seeking relief. Her pink toes against the navy rug will be all I think about tonight, lying in my bed and wishing she were curled up next to me.

My left hand grips my balls while my right focuses on the tip of my dick. When her quiet moan echoes in the room, it's all I can take before my orgasm hits me like a tidal wave.

I squeeze my eyes shut and groan her name.

"Say it again," she blurts out, and I finally give in, looking at her.

Her mouth hangs open, her chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.

"Tate," I murmur, and her eyes flutter closed.

I drop my hand to my side, covered in the remnants of my release. Yet my dick is still hard. There's no doubt that if I wanted to, I could be ready for round two in a few minutes.

"Look what you do to me," I admit, holding my hand up. "It only barely took the edge off too."

She shakes her head as if she's returning to reality and the weight of what happened sinks in.

"I should go," she says, nodding toward the door. Turning to face the mirror, she grabs her things once more. When she reaches for the doorknob, I call her name to stop her. She pauses but doesn't move to look at me.

"If you want me to give you a hand next time, you say the word. It can be our little secret."

I see her smirk in the reflection, and she shakes her head. "I'll meet you outside in fifteen minutes."